


lost myself again (and i'm nowhere to be found)

by boudour



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Future Fic, Getting Together, Missing Scene, implied slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-14 11:01:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13588680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boudour/pseuds/boudour
Summary: If she were less pragmatic, she’d say they’re doomed, heroes of their own little tragedy.





	lost myself again (and i'm nowhere to be found)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prettysophist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettysophist/gifts).



> This could either be a future fic or set in a fuzzy area in a past episode, I let you choose which version you like best!

In moments like these, she could almost believe the world is at peace.

The early morning sunlight dappling the leaves in gold and green, the crisp air, the silence but for the birdsong and the sound of their footsteps.

She lets herself believe that she’s simply out for a stroll, a cute nice boy by her side, close enough to bump shoulders yet never quite making contact.

She allows herself to indulge in the reverie for just a moment before wrenching herself away from the thought. It doesn’t do to get lost in fantasies, not when you want to stay alive, not when there can be no crossing of the gaping chasm between those dreams and reality. Were she to dwell on it too long, she wouldn’t have the strength to keep going.

Besides, Bellamy is many things but a nice boy he is not. Neither of them are anything as simple as nice. She doesn’t think she would know how to deal with him if he were.

Not that she knows how to deal with him now.

Bellamy checks the rifle and gets in position behind a fallen tree trunk. Clarke takes the safety off her gun and crouches beside him. They’re not expecting any danger but if there's one thing their experience on the ground has taught them it's to always prepare for the worst. 

She’s supposed to be back in camp, resting before her shift starts or the next emergency hits, but with nothing for her to do she felt keyed up and restless, and when she saw Bellamy heading for the woods, she found herself falling into step with him, easy as that.

He’d only glanced at her and hadn’t said anything, so she hadn’t either.

There’s a comfortable familiarity to having Bellamy by her side, as if they’d never been apart, as if they hadn’t found themselves on opposite sides once again, as if betrayal didn’t hang heavy in the air between them.

He’s right next to her right now, she tries to focus on that. 

For a while nothing happens except for the rustle of their clothes as they shift position to avoid cramping muscles. She’s keenly aware of his presence—of how much space separates them—but she’s been studiously avoiding looking at him directly, pretending to be absorbed by her watch. She thinks she can almost feel the warmth emanating from him.

From the corner of her eye, she sees him scrutinize the trees, relaxed but watchful. She tries to do the same but all of her attention is occupied by the glimpses of him she sees out of the corner of her eye and the low thrum of tension winding more tightly as the minutes tick by.

An enemy could come straight at them and Clarke wouldn’t see them until it was too late.  
She turns to Bellamy, takes a breath but words desert her and she can only look. At the secure way he holds the rifle in his hands, like it belongs there; at the half-healed bruising on his cheek; at his perpetually tousled hair, wild curls falling on his forehead. At his eyes as he looks back at her.

He watches her back, expression thoughtful. She can’t begin to figure out his thoughts. He’s a closed book to her now, in a way he's never been before.

She should simply ask hi— 

“What are you thinking?” he asks, and she lets out an amused huff.

“I was wondering what you were thinking about,” she says, and he smiles, a small crooked thing.

He gives the woods around them a careful sweep of his eyes and looks back at her, giving her the same weary attention. Something in her gut twists painfully as she realizes that she’s become as unfathomable and unpredictable to him as he is to her.

“I wonder if it will ever be the same,” she says. Between you and I, she doesn’t have to add.

Despite everything, they’ve always managed to find a way back to each other but she wonders if they’ve finally strained their relationship past the point of no return, whittled away at the trust between them until nothing is left except the duty to their people.

He ponders the question, then rolls the answer on his tongue like it has a bitter taste and she knows what he’s going to say before he opens his mouth.

“Probably not,” he says, looking straight at her.

She holds his gaze. Even when she hated him, she’d always appreciated Bellamy’s straightforwardness, but it doesn’t stop the painful twinge beneath her ribcage. That she can see the same pain reflected in his eyes doesn’t help any.

“Do you think—” he clears his throat, “Do you think history is bound to repeat itself?”

They sure do seem to repeat the same mistakes, over and over again. And doing the same thing while expecting a different result is a definition of madness. But she doesn’t think they could act differently, and still stay themselves. 

She’d always thought that the fact that they’re in opposition more often than not is what allows the unlikely pair they form to work. That they balanced each other out. But lately it seems that they’ve been doing nothing but shove each other in opposite directions instead, each time harder than the last.

If she were less pragmatic, she’d say they’re doomed, heroes of their own little tragedy.

Clarke has done many things, borne many things since they left the Ark, but the thought of losing Bellamy, for good, is simply unbearable. Her throat is closing up, she doesn’t know how to put that in words—she can’t—she has to—she’s so af— 

A strong gust of wind ruffles his hair and deposits of all things a dandelion seed on Bellamy’s face, dotting his cheek like an extra freckle. Intent as he is on her, he doesn’t notice.

Clarke watches as her hand reaches over to brush the seed away. 

Her first thought is that she’s surprised by how soft his skin is. Her second is to wonder what the fuck she’s doing.

“Clarke.”

Bellamy’s voice has gone an octave deeper and the sound seems to make her insides thrum. His eyes are roaming her face, looking for something, she doesn’t know what.

Her hand is cradling his jaw now, thumb caressing his cheek. Her fingers are trembling.

They move. They don’t so much press their mouths together as collide lips first, uncoordinated and ungainly.

A shared amused breath and their lips are touching again, achingly slow this time, almost sweet.

They linger there like they have all the time in the world.

If their story is a tragedy, they’re going to make sure it's epic.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Sia - Breathe Me  
> 


End file.
